Related Events
by Marcus Rowland
Summary: A chance meeting at a fencing salon leads Modesty Blaise into an unusual adventure. Modesty Blaise crossover, WIP
1. Chapter 1

This is a crossover between BtVS and the Modesty Blaise comic strips and books. For BtVS this is three years post Chosen; for Modesty Blaise it's after the novels but before some events in the collection Cobra Trap. The 1960s film never happened, it was a horrid figment of your imagination, but the later film, My Name is Modesty, fits the background reasonably well.

For the purposes of this story Modesty is as she is usually described, in her mid- to late twenties, and the publication date of the novels should be ignored. For a story that uses the chronology of the books see my earlier Counter-Coup.

**Related Events**

_by Marcus L. Rowland_

**I**

"This is insufferable," said Professor Giulio Barbi. "You are wasting your talents! If you had come to me ten years earlier you would have had the makings of an Olympic champion. It is too late for that now, but you could compete at national levels, and you are still parrying when you could press home your attack!"

"But you would have hit me afterwards," said Modesty Blaise, trailing her épée along the strip of non-slip rubber that formed the centre piste of his salle. It was an old argument, and one she would never win without telling Barbi too much about her life.

"Afterwards does not count! You would have made the hit and won the point!"

"That's all very well in a competition, but in a real fight..."

"Fight! Who fights with swords! We are fencing, not brawling." Modesty didn't reply; she doubted that Barbi would approve of her response. She'd killed with a sword.

"Still teaching people to turn the other cheek, Professor?"

They turned to see a tall bespectacled figure in slacks and a leather jacket, standing well clear of the piste. Barbi peered at him, for a moment puzzled, then took off his mask and said "Doctor Giles? I had heard you were dead. Or in America, which is probably worse." Modesty took off her own mask as Barbi turned back to her and said "Mademoiselle Blaise, allow me to introduce you to another brawler. Doctor Giles, allow me to present Mademoiselle Blaise." For a second she thought he recognised her name, or perhaps her face, but there was nothing overt in his attitude or expression to confirm that.

Giles stepped forward and said "Rupert Giles," and offered her his hand, which she shook firmly, saying "Modesty Blaise."

"Pleased to meet you." He turned back to the Professor and said "I'm sorry to drop in without warning, but I was in London for a meeting that ended early. I came in to sign up for regular training sessions, if you can fit me in, and I was hoping I might be able to borrow an épée and get a little practice today."

"I regret, but... a moment. Mademoiselle Blaise, would you and Doctor Giles care to try a bout or two? It might amuse you both, and it would give me an opportunity to compare your techniques. Doctor Giles, you have no épée?"

"I'm afraid it's in Bath," said Giles, "but anything will do, I've given up on customised grips."

"Then I have something that will suffice. Mademoiselle Blaise, is this agreeable to you?"

"Why not?" said Modesty, guessing that this meant that Giles was a worthy opponent. Barbi led Giles off, bringing him back a few minutes later in protective clothing and carrying another épée. She fastened her own mask.

Barbi checked Modesty's equipment and whispered "He was strong and fast, and used to be quite good, but he has been fighting Americans. You should easily win." He went to check Giles, and Modesty guessed that he was saying something similar to him. After a few seconds he moved clear of the piste and said "Commence."

oOoOoOo

Helping himself to a handful of cashew nuts in Modesty's London penthouse that evening, after a swim in the basement pool, Willie Garvin asked "How was your fencing practice?"

"Barbi tried to slip in a ringer," said Modesty, heading for her bedroom to change out of her bathing suit.

"A what?"

"A ringer," Modesty raised her voice as she put on a bath-robe. "Named Rupert Giles, about fifty, quite good-looking. Barbi pretended he was just a good amateur, but he was well above the usual standard. If he hasn't fought at national level he's close to it."

"Naughty Barbi," Willie said disapprovingly. "Did you beat him, Princess?"

"Only just. He was good; not quite as good a classic fencer as Barbi, but much more versatile."

"How do you mean?" Willie asked as she came back in, towelling off her dark hair.

"Barbi called him a brawler. Technically a little sloppy, but not much worse than me, and has a lot of energy and power. Has the same trouble I do about getting hit after making the point. From the way he fought I'd guess he's used to heavier blades than an épée. Maybe sabre, could even be broadsword."

"That's odd. It's not like it's an Olympic sport. Film work? Or historical re-enactment?"

"Maybe. He looked... well, I'd have to say tough. Not exactly a brawler in the sense we'd use, if anything he seemed an intellectual, but he's been in a good few fights without protection. I could see some scars, and his nose has been broken at least once."

"Anything else?"

"I think he may have recognised my name or my face," said Modesty, "though he didn't say so. The odd thing is I've a feeling I've come across his name somewhere."

"Anything else?"

"I'm pretty sure he was being followed. We left the salle at the same time, there was a car waiting for him, with a woman driver and another woman sitting in the back, both young. Daughters, maybe. When they drove off another car tailed it."

"You sure?"

"I recognised the driver. Tommy Waddell, he used to be on the fringes of Brunel's mob."

"Better tell Tarrant, then." Sir Gerald Tarrant ran one of the more effective departments of British intelligence, and Brunel had been a thorn in his side a few years earlier. Brunel was long dead, but some remnants of his old organisation occasionally surfaced.

"Mmmm," said Modesty, running her fingers along one of the bookshelves in the living room. Willie guessed that she'd remembered something, and waited while she pulled a paperback from the shelf, flicked through to the final pages, and nodded absently.

"Got something?"

"I had an idea I'd seen the name in print, and it's here. You know that Tarrant is a fencing Blue. In the seventies he was a regular judge at the British Fencing Championships. An R. Giles was awarded the Silver medal in sabre and the Bronze in épée in seventy-nine. He was a couple of points away from the Gold in sabre."

"And?"

"And nothing. He dropped out of competition completely, as far as I can tell, though he must have stayed in practice. Nobody's that good without it."

"Then Tarrant might know him," said Willie.

"It could be a coincidence," said Modesty.

"It could, only..."

"Only what, Willie?"

"Me ears are pricking." Willie had an odd sense for danger, which had saved their lives on several occasions. "Could be nothing, or my imagination, but I've just got an odd feeling..."

"Then I'd better talk to Tarrant. If I call now I ought to catch him before he leaves his office."

"That's odd," Modesty said a few minutes later, coming into the kitchen where Willie was laying the table. "I've never known Tarrant to be so cagey. He went very quiet when I mentioned the name."

"Any idea why?"

"No. But you'd better set three places, he's on his way over."

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

This is a crossover between BtVS and the Modesty Blaise comic strips and books. For BtVS this is three years post Chosen; for Modesty Blaise it's after the novels but before some events in the collection Cobra Trap. The 1960s film never happened, it was a horrid figment of your imagination, but the later film, My Name is Modesty, fits the background reasonably well.

For the purposes of this story Modesty is as she is usually described, in her mid- to late twenties, and the publication date of the novels should be ignored. For a story that uses the chronology of the books see my earlier Counter-Coup.

**Related Events**

_by Marcus L. Rowland_

**II**

"More wine?" asked Willie, topping up Modesty's glass then refilling his own.

"I'd better not," said Sir Gerald Tarrant, "I have a lot of reports to read tonight."

"Are any of them about Rupert Giles?" asked Modesty.

"I was wondering when you'd get to that," said Tarrant. "How did you come to meet him?"

"I told you; he was at Barbi's salon."

"Yes, I thought that was what you said."

"Come on," said Willie. "What's his game?"

"I think that this is where I ask you to change the subject," said Tarrant, sprinkling a little pepper onto his omlette.

"It's that secret?" asked Willie, raising his eyebrows.

"In a manner of speaking. It isn't intelligence work."

"In that case," said Modesty, "why not tell us? And why come here in the first place?"

"Because I knew that you'd react this way. Let me give you a hypothetical example," said Tarrant. "Suppose, say, that the Queen were to die. What happens?"

"Prince Charles becomes the King," said Modesty, "unless he's already dead."

"Doesn't the government have to agree to that?" asked Willie. "Decide if he's competent."

"Yes," said Tarrant. "The Privy Council appoints the monarch. Usually it's a formality, but there are certain circumstances in which the next person in the line of succession might be unsuitable. Illness or insanity, for example."

"What's that got to do with Giles?" asked Modesty.

"If such a meeting took place, Doctor Giles or his successor would be one of the people reporting on the suitability of the heir."

"So Giles is... what? An investigator for the Privy Council?"

"No. The point is that while his work in that respect would be extremely confidential, it would have nothing to do with intelligence."

"I could look him up, you know," said Willie. "It isn't that common a name."

"You could," said Tarrant, "but I'm asking you not to."

"All right," Willie said amicably.

"You'd better warn him that someone's taking an interest in his movements," said Modesty. "We took care of Brunel for you, but Tommy Waddell was a nasty piece of work in his own right."

"Already done. His people are looking into it."

"He has people?" said Willie, raising his eyebrows.

For a moment Tarrant looked annoyed with himself, then he chuckled and said "I'd really prefer not to discuss the matter any further."

"Okay," said Willie. "'Ow's the fishing been going this year?"

oOoOoOo

"What did you make of that?" Modesty asked after Tarrant had left.

Willie thought for a second, then said "Whoever Giles is, he doesn't work for Tarrant, but Tarrant respects him. He's some sort of doctor, probably not medical, and that business about the Privy Council is a red herring."

"Yes, I thought that. If that was really all that Giles does, I doubt that Tarrant would care that we knew. It might be something that he might do if the Queen died, I can't see Tarrant lying about it completely, but it certainly isn't the main part of his job."

"So what do you want to do about it?" asked Willie.

"I think I'll change my next booking with Barbi to Thursday morning," said Modesty.

"Why then?"

"Because that's when Giles has a practice session. I overheard him talking to Barbi."

"Nice one, Princess. Want me to tag along?"

"Better not," said Modesty, pouring coffee, "he might get nervous."

"If you're sure..." he said, disappointment in his tone.

"I think so. Besides, you're the one who promised not to do anything more."

"And you didn't, did you?" said Willie. "Clever."

"I think you threw Tarrant off balance a little or I'm sure he would have asked. But since he didn't..."

oOoOoOo

"No, no, no!" Barbi shouted as Modesty entered the salle. "You are developing the faults of Monsieur Giles!" He was yelling at a tall brunette girl wearing fencing clothes and mask, who seemed to be waiting patiently for the tirade to end, though it was hard to tell through the mask. Giles, also wearing fencing clothes though holding his mask in his hand, was watching from the side, and seemed to be trying hard not to laugh.

"And another brawler arrives," added Barbi, catching sight of Modesty.

"Don't mind me," said Modesty, "I'm a little early."

"Actually," Giles said mildly, "I think we're running a little late."

"Early, late, what does it matter!" shouted Barbi, "You are both beyond my help. At least Mademoiselle Summers is young enough to learn to fight properly."

"Then perhaps you could give Dawn some instruction, and Miss Blaise and I can amuse ourselves for a while. If that's acceptable to you, of course, Miss Blaise?"

"Why not? It'll give you a chance to get your revenge."

"Very well," said Barbi. "I would suggest that you both concentrate on precision thrusts and the development of your wrist muscles, but I know that it would be useless. Brawl away, and I will attempt to impart the rudiments of technique to Miss Summers."

Modesty and Giles moved to another piste, and Giles quietly said "I believe that I owe you my thanks."

"What for?" asked Modesty.

"My follower."

"You were told I spotted him?"

"I guessed, and you've just been good enough to confirm it." Modesty felt slightly annoyed with herself for falling for such an old trick. Now Giles knew she was connected to Tarrant, if he hadn't known already. "As it happens we knew he was there but hadn't identified him. Now we've been able to take steps to resolve the problem." On the centre piste Barbi and Dawn began to fight.

"She's very good," Modesty said after a few moments.

"She's a natural," said Giles. "Better than I was at her age."

"Your student?"

"A little, but I mostly work with her sister."

"How does she compare?" said Modesty, moving to the en garde position.

"It's difficult to compare them," said Giles, engaging Modesty's blade. For the next few minutes neither had time to talk. Eventually Modesty said "Your point."

"And I think my match." On the centre piste Barbi was showing Dawn a complex feint.

"You never really answered my question," said Modesty. "How does her sister compare?"

"Oh, she's a brawler too. I wouldn't ask her to fight Barbi, it'd be a massacre."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. She'd slaughter him."

"But..."

"Best of three?" Giles asked blandly.

oOoOoOo

"Giles likes you," Dawn said as she was showering. With the fencing mask off she was a beautiful young woman in her late teens or early twenties. From the neighbouring shower cubicle Modesty said "Really?"

"Definitely. There's not many people he'll talk to that easily since Jenny..." she tailed off into an embarassed silence.

"Jenny?" repeated Modesty.

"Jenny. His girlfriend. She died eight or nine years ago."

"Oh."

"I didn't really know her, I was only eleven or so. She was about your age when she was killed."

"Nine years is a long time to mourn," said Modesty, wondering how Jenny had died.

"Oh, he's had girfriends since then. Mom, though that was pretty much a one-night stand and I'm not supposed to know about it, a couple of others. Nothing right now."

"Match-making?"

"Well... maybe a little..." There was another embarassed pause.

"You must be very good friends."

"We've known him pretty much since my parents divorced, he was working at my sister's new school when we moved house, and he's been around for us ever since. He helped a lot when mom died, and when my sister was.. ill." Modesty wondered why Dawn had paused momentarily before saying 'ill.' Maybe she meant mental illness.

"I think I'm done," said Dawn. She walked past Modesty's cubicle, with a towel around her waist and another over her shoulders and covering her breasts. Under it Modesty glimpsed her midriff and three long white scars, vivid against her tanned skin. She wryly remembered her own scars, and wondered what Dawn would make of them as she finished showering and went to join her in the locker room.

oOoOoOo

"...can't recommend being a human sacrifice," Dawn said as she and Modesty came out of the changing room, "but that's wacky California cults for you. I was rescued and the world didn't end, that was the main thing."

"Oh dear," said Giles, "I do hope Dawn hasn't been telling you too many tall tales."

"Would I do that?" asked Dawn. "On second thought don't answer that..."

"Would you care to join us for lunch?" Giles asked Modesty. "There's a rather nice little Italian restaurant around the corner."

"I know it," said Modesty, "and I am a little hungry. I'd be delighted, if you don't mind my company. Dawn?"

"Actually," Dawn said quickly, "I just realised, I'm supposed to be meeting Faith for coffee."

"Faith?" said Giles, with an air of surprise. "Has she suddenly teleported from Boston?"

"Sorry, did I say Faith? I meant.. um.. Kennedy!"

"Of course you did," Giles said in a slightly amused tone.

"Gotta dash!" Dawn ran for the door, fencing kit in hand, and went off before he could ask any more awkward questions.

"Matchmaking again," said Giles, shaking his head.

"Does she do it often?" asked Modesty.

"Only when I spend five minutes or more in the company of an attractive woman."

Modesty raised her eyebrows.

"Well, she does seem to have good taste. I just wish her excuses would get better, Kennedy was in Cornwall the last time I looked."

"Well," said Modesty, "nobody's perfect. Let's eat."

_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

A friend has posted a story in response to one of the ideas in the last chapter; it can be found on Twisting the Hellmouth, Routine Security Checks by vogonguard.

**Related Events**

_by Marcus L. Rowland_

**III**

"I must admit to being slightly curious," Giles said over dessert. "Most people wouldn't notice that I was being followed. You spotted it, recognized the man, and found the right person to tell about it in... um... five hours or so."

"I'm surprised that you're surprised," said Modesty, "Don't you have a dossier on me?"

"Why would I..? No, although I will admit to asking a few questions. Official information about you seems to be very difficult to find. Gossip describes you as an adventurer and former criminal, but that would apply to quite a few of the people I know. Myself included."

"You're very frank. Actually, I did think you recognized my name when we met."

"It was more that you reminded me of someone. Would you mind if I asked an odd question?"

"Ask away," said Modesty, "but I don't guarantee to answer."

"Are you by any chance related to the Kalderash gypsy tribe of Romania?"

Modesty blinked with surprise, and said "I'm afraid that's a question I can't answer. I'm an orphan, a refugee, all that I really know is that I was born somewhare in the Balkans. I don't know anything about my parents. Why do you ask?"

"Some years ago I knew a woman whose family came from that tribe, you look a lot like her." There was a look of pain in his eyes, and she guessed that he was referring to the woman Dawn had mentioned. He pulled out his wallet and handed her a creased photograph. It showed a younger version of Giles and a dark-haired woman, standing in front of a huge truck painted with the Confederate flag. If she ignored the cosmetics and hair and concentrated on the shape of her nose, cheeks, eyes, chin and lips, there was a striking similarity to her own face. She turned it over idly and read "Jenny and monster trucks, Sunnydale November 1997"

"I see what you mean. I'm surprised Dawn didn't mention it."

"I doubt that she remembers her well enough to notice the resemblance. They never really met."

"Well, I suppose that it's possible that we're distantly related. Why do you want her family?"

"I've some belongings that should be returned to relatives, but I've had no luck finding them. Most of them were killed, of course..."

"Why of course?"

Giles gave her an appraising look then said "The story has it that they cursed a vampire to a life of eternal remorse, and were hunted down and killed by his followers."

"What really happened?" asked Modesty. "Some sort of feud?"

"Something like that," said Giles. "A girl was murdered, followed by curses and oaths and protracted revenge. Most of the tribe were killed in a matter of weeks, the survivors eventually went to ground or dispersed amongst other gypsy tribes, of those many were killed by the Nazis. Jenny and her uncle were the last members of the tribe I've been able to trace, and both of them are dead."

"Should I feel threatened?"

"No. Their killer died some time ago. As far as I know the feud died with him."

"I wonder if there's any way to find out if I am related," said Modesty, wondering if this was the prelude to some sort of con and deciding to sound him out. "I'd like to know more about my family."

"Genetic fingerprinting, I suppose," said Giles, absently pushing a small piece of tiramasu around with his fork. "if we could find someone to compare you to. Unfortunately I don't have a lock of hair, or anything of that sort, so it would be difficult. It's possible that the Museum could help."

"Which one?"

"Oh, the British Museum, I used to be a curator and still have some contacts there."

"How could they help?"

"The Museum has quite a lot of material on ethnology and anthropology, there may be something there that would be useful. While the early ethnologists mostly went in for skull measurements and hopeless racist nonsense about evolved and degenerate features, Aryans and so forth, a few did think to collect samples such as hair. If so it ought to have been kept, the Museum doesn't throw much away."

"Would finding out be expensive?"

"I very much doubt that money would come into it. I might have to do them a favour at some point, perhaps, but that's unlikely to be a problem."

"Would it be worthwhile making enquiries in Romania? For members of the tribe, or the sort of samples that would identify me?"

"I've already looked for the tribe, without success. Of course, if you have contacts of your own there..."

"A few. I'm not sure that any of them could help, but I'll ask. How is the name spelled, exactly?" She took a notebook from her bag and took down the details.

"Jenny's real name was Janna Kalderash, with a 'K'. Her uncle was..." he hesitated for a moment, then snapped his fingers and said "Enyos. Enyos Kalderash."

"Thank you. I'll try my contacts."

"And I'll see if the Museum has links to any Romanian museum that could help."

"It's a lot of trouble for you to go to."

"I'd like to finish settling her affairs, one way or another." There was a pause as a waiter brought coffee.

"I have to ask," said Modesty. "Could you find anything from the bodies of the people you mentioned? Your friend and her uncle?"

"A few years ago perhaps, but the cemetery was lost when Sunnydale was destroyed."

"Sunnydale... oh, the earthquake. I hadn't realised."

"I was working there when I met Jenny, and unfortunately that's where she died. Her uncle was also buried there."

"Oh. I'm sorry..."

"Dawn and her sister are in the same boat," said Giles, "their mother's grave was lost, and several friends. It could be worse, I suppose. At least they remember their mother. I gather you don't?"

"No. I don't remember much of my early life, which is why this interests me."

"I just hope that if we find the answers you'll like them," said Giles. "I've made the mistake of digging too deeply on numerous occasions. Sometimes ignorance really is bliss."

"That sounded like a warning," said Modesty.

"Not really, but the Kalderash tribe were a proud vengeful people. It made them some powerful enemies and got most of them killed. While I hope that's all over, I'd hate you to find out otherwise the hard way."

"I see what you mean, but I'm not that easy to kill."

"Not with a sword, at least." There was a soft beep, and Giles pulled out a mobile phone and said. "I'm afraid that this may be duty calling. Do you mind?"

"Go ahead."

"Giles... How many? Where?" Suddenly his attention was entirely on the phone. He listened for a moment more, then said "Get someone round to pick me up, I'm at the Trattoria Napoli, Dawn knows the address. Fifteen minutes?" He listened a moment more then hit the disconnect button and said "I'm sorry, there's a small emergency. Dawn's coming to pick me up."

"How can I reach you?" asked Modesty.

"One of these numbers should work." He pulled out his wallet and gave her a business card, "Rupert Giles" with an address in Bath and telephone numbers in Bath and London. She gave him her own card as he said "Waiter? The bill please." Giles quickly read it, gave the waiter the money with a generous tip, and said "I'm sorry to cut this short, but it could be quite important."

"I quite understand."

She finished her coffee and went outside with him, and they chatted while he waited. "By the way," said Modesty, "I still have no idea what it is you do."

"Well," said Giles, smiling for a moment. "it's a little difficult to explain." A battered Volkswagen mini-bus skidded to the kerb, and Dawn leaned out and impatiently said "Come on, Giles!" Modesty could see three other women inside, one of them driving, all of them roughly Dawn's age or a little older.

"My chariot awaits," said Giles. He slid open the door and climbed in, saying "I'll give you a call if I learn anything."

The door slid closed and the mini-bus screeched off into traffic, narrowly missing a taxi, and disappeared from view.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

A friend has posted a story in response to one of the ideas in chapter II; it can be found on Twisting the Hellmouth, Routine Security Checks by vogonguard.

**Related Events**

_by Marcus L. Rowland_

**IV**

"So what did you make of him?" Willie asked, timing Modesty as she field-stripped her MAB Brevette automatic, blindfold, in the penthouse the following evening.

"He's not talking about what he does," said Modesty, completing the dissassembly and starting to put the gun together again, "but I doubt it's anything to do with us."

"And you think he fancies you?" said Willie, silently picking up a part and moving it a few inches.

"That's cheating, Willie," Modesty said instantly.

"'What is?"

"You took something..." she passed delicate fingertips over the components "...the magazine base-plate."

"How'd you know?"

"I smelled your aftershave when you leaned towards me."

"Nice one. It's still there if you can find it," said Willie. Modesty felt again, found it, and completed the reassembly in seconds. "That's only six seconds over your best time," said Willie, "even with looking for the spring."

Modesty took off the blindfold and said "Nice to know I'm not slowing down too much. You were saying?"

"Does Giles fancy you?"

"Not exactly. Likes, perhaps, but I think it's more that he's still in love with this other woman, Jenny, and sees something of her in me."

"That's all right provided he doesn't think you're her reincarnation or something."

"He seemed sane enough," said Modesty.

"So did Myra."

"Myra? One of your old flames?"

"That's right," said Willie. "Lovely bird, but she was obsessed with reincarnation, convinced herself I was Lord Byron."

"Why Byron?" asked Modesty, putting the gun back in its holster and into her concealed gun safe.

"Search me. It was all right when she just wanted me to be 'mad, bad, and dangerous to know', I could do that well enough, but then she wanted me to write poetry..."

"Not your scene?"

"'Roses are red," said Willie, "violets are blue, and that's about my limit."

"Poor thing."

"In the end I cribbed about twenty minutes of the worst Victorian poem I could find and shoved her name into it, thought that might shut her up but I never 'eard from her again. Probably still wondering what 'effulgent' means..." He looked at her expectantly.

It was an old game they played. Willie would find a word, as obscure as possible, and use it in conversation. Modesty had to respond by using the correct meaning. She racked her brains, then said "I can see how she might wonder... Probably not a brightly shining example of wit."

"Thought I had you there for a second," said Willie. He glanced at his watch and said "It's about time I was heading back to the pub, the builders start on the new extension tomorrow morning and the manager'll need a hand."

"When are you in town again?"

"Probably not for a couple of weeks. It's going to be a bit hectic for a while."

"I'll try to get down at the weekend," said Modesty, "maybe I can give you a hand."

"I'll look forward to it. About Giles..."

"Yes?"

"Be careful. You're probably right about him, but I've still got an odd feeling that there's something funny going on."

"I'll bear it in mind," said Modesty, "and I've an idea about how I can find out some more about him..."

oOoOoOoOo

Professor Stephen Collier was a psychic researcher and mathematician, one of Modesty's former lovers; his American wife Dinah was blind, an astonishingly accurate dowser, and one of Willie's ex-girlfriends. All four were firm friends. When Modesty called at their home the following weekend Dinah was gardening, by touch and scent, while Steve was lounging in a deck-chair and typing an article into his iBook.

"Giles?" said Collier, once Modesty had explained what she wanted. "Rupert Giles and Sunnydale?"

"That's right," said Modesty

"And this isn't a joke?" he said, raising his eyebrows.

"What do you mean?"

"Take a look at alt conspiracy sunnydale some time. Rupert Giles tends to feature fairly prominently in their theories."

"Why Giles?" asked Modesty.

"He rescued the last survivors, driving them out in a school bus with the street collapsing behind it. Before that he ran an occult bookshop in the town. Before that he was librarian at Sunnydale High, the school that was at the epicentre of the collapse. He lost that job when the school was blown up four years before the town collapsed, almost to the day, but he still somehow ended up driving the school bus."

"Blown up?" echoed Dinah, pausing in her weeding.

"Allegedly a gas explosion," said Collier. "Although for some reason it was centred on the school library. Sixteen people were killed, including the mayor of Sunnydale. They only re-opened the school a few months before the town collapsed."

"That's a weird coincidence," said Modesty, "but it doesn't tell me much about the man. What do you have on him?"

"Let's see..." said Collier, starting a web browser and going to one of the sites he had bookmarked. "He studied at Oxford, got Firsts in ancient languages, philosophy, and archaeology, dropped out for a year or so, then went back to college and got his MA and DPhil. After that he worked for the British museum from the early eighties until ninety-seven, then resigned and moved to Sunnydale and got the school librarian's job. Nobody seems to be sure why."

"How did he get a work permit?" asked Dinah.

"Good question," said Collier, "and one that's been asked a good few times. There's no obvious reason why they should have given the job to him in preference to an American graduate. Or any good reason why he kept his work permit after he lost the job."

"So what's the conspiracy theory?" asked Modesty.

"Basically, that he was involved in the collapse of the town. Nobody has any evidence that it wasn't a natural disaster, although there are a lot of questions about the actual geology of it, but that doesn't stop the conspiracy nuts. It doesn't help that there are legends of supernatural phenomena in the area going back to the seventeenth century, when the Spanish settlers called it the 'Boca del Infierno.'"

"'The Mouth of Hell,'" said Modesty

"How is he supposed to have destroyed the town?" asked Dinah.

"One theory is that he found a way inside the hollow Earth," said Collier, "and the town collapsed into the opening, another has him helping the Grey aliens to destroy the place. But the one that seems to have the biggest following involves black magic. The idea is that he found something in the British Museum, a manuscript or artifact that led him to Sunnydale, where he tapped into some sort of mystical energy source. His first experiments led to the school exploding, then he finally got it right when the town went under."

"And your theory?" asked Modesty.

Collier was silent for a moment, then said "There's evidence of psychic involvement in the disaster. The Rhine Research Centre was running several experiments that afternoon, all of them began to give anomolous results about ten minutes before the collapse began, ending with the earthquake. There were similar results in Tokyo and Washington. The UCLA parapsychology laboratory had two subjects collapse."

"Which is why you know so much about Sunnydale, of course," said Modesty. "What about the woman Giles mentioned, Jenny Calendar?"

"It doesn't ring any bells," said Collier. "Nothing on Google, let's try alt conspiracy sunnydale... yes, here we are. None of this is official, remember, but allegedly she was murdered, body found in the home of Rupert Giles in February ninety-eight. He was questioned but released without charges."

"I didn't know she was killed in his home," said Modesty.

"She wasn't," said Collier, scrolling down the page. "She was killed elsewhere then moved there."

"What about her uncle, Enyos Kalderash?"

"Hmmm... no, nothing about him here."

"Damn."

"Do you have any other names?" asked Dinah. "Anyone else that Giles mentioned?"

"You could try Dawn Summers," said Modesty. "Oh, and there's a sister... um.. Buffy."

Collier typed "Dawn Summers" then said "Dawn's mentioned a few times, usually as one of the passengers on the bus. Hmmm... someone pointed out that no documentation on her survived Sunnydale. But there's no particular reason why there should be, as far as I can tell. Let's try Buffy Summers... hmmm. That's odd..."

"What?" Dinah and Modesty asked almost simultaneously.

"It's claimed that she was expelled from Hemery High in Los Angeles for setting fire to the gym. Suspect in the murder of another student in Sunnydale, charges later dropped. Suspect in the destruction of the high school until they determined it was a gas explosion. After that there's nothing much until the town collapsed. She was also a passenger on the last bus, of course."

"Sounds colourful," said Modesty. "But it doesn't really get us anywhere. It doesn't explain why Tarrant is interested in Giles, or warned me off him."

"There's evidence that most governments are interested in parapsychology," said Collier, "and Tarrant has more reason than most to know that parapsychological methods can sometimes work. What if Giles is involved in that in some way? Maybe co-ordinating research between Britain and the USA?"

"Wouldn't you know?" asked Dinah.

"Not necessarily," said Collier, "not if it was a secret project. Maybe something was going on in Sunnydale, there was a university there. A PSI event powerful enough to destroy a city... maybe some sort of PSI weapon."

"And there you have it," said Dinah. "Those conspiracy guys want Giles involved with magic or aliens because they think that way, Steve wants him involved in parapsychology because he thinks that way. And Modesty, I guess you think he's involved in the spy game or big time crime, because that's the way you tend to look at things."

"It's a good point," said Modesty. "What would you suggest I do about it?"

"Ask him, of course."

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: The idea of Sunnydale Conspiracy Theories in the last chapter seems to have amused a lot of my readers, so much so that I've set up a Livejournal community, sdaleconspiracy, to discuss them. Who was the mysterious one-eyed man aboard the last bus out of Sunnydale? Why do thousands of people have vague memories of a "Jonathan" doing everything from starring in The Matrix to inventing the Internet? Is that really Mayor Wilkins in the background of the Zapruder assasination film? Why doesn't Google Earth show the Sunnydale crater? The truth is out there... but will anyone be able to recognize it if they see it? Tinfoil hats are optional but recommended...

**Related Events**

V

"...and three pints of Old Peculiar, a diet Coke, and a packet of cheese and chive crisps," said the biker standing at the bar. Modesty nodded and began to pull the pints.

"It's good of you to 'elp out," said Willie, attending to another of _The Treadmill's_ customers, "might 'ave known we'd get busy as soon as the builders got to work."

"Charlie ought to be up from changing the barrel soon," said Modesty, pouring the Coke while she waited for the foam to settle in the beer glasses, "and Mrs. Dawes should be finished in the kitchen any minute, then we can take another look at the decor of the lady's room in the new extension. Where do you keep the cheese and chive crisps?"

"Box by your knee," said Willie, pulling a glass of cider.

Modesty located them, topped up the beer glasses, and put them onto a tray on the counter, and gave the customer his change from twenty pounds. He left fifty pence behind in a puddle of spilled beer; Modesty wiped up the mess and dropped the coin into the tips saucer by the till. She was vaguely aware of someone taking his place, and said "What can I get you?" as she turned to the counter.

"A few moments of your time when things slacken off a little," said Sir Gerald Tarrant, "but for now a small whisky and soda."

"I had an interesting visitor yesterday," said Tarrant, about fifteen minutes later. He, Modesty and Willie were in Willie's gymnasium in the barn behind the pub. "Doctor Rupert Giles. It appears that he's taken an interest in you. Which is odd since I think you said you'd only met him once."

"Twice, actually," said Modesty. "I ran into him again at Barbi's salon about a week later."

"Ran into him?" asked Tarrant, raising his eyebrows.

"I arrived a little early for my next session, he was still there, with another student. Giles and I ended up having lunch together."

"After you promised me not to get involved in his affairs?" Tarrant asked mildly.

"'Ang on a minute," said Willie, "I'm the one that made the promise. The Princess didn't say a word."

Tarrant thought for a moment, then shook his head and said "I wish to hell you had. Who was the student?"

"A girl called Dawn Summers," said Modesty. "She's an excellent fencer. Why?"

For some reason Tarrant looked relieved as he said "I can only tell you some of it. You'd have to go to Giles for the rest, and I really would advise against it." He paused to collect his thoughts, then said "Giles heads an international organisation which handles certain..." he seemed to be looking for the right words "unusual problems. Without going into details, it's necessary work and extraordinarily dangerous. From time to time they've found it... expedient... to ask favours of the British government, since they're based in the UK. Usually that involves lending them equipment or personnel, or liasing with foreign governments."

"And in return?" asked Willie.

"In return?" asked Tarrant.

"What's in it for the government?" asked Modesty. "For the other governments?"

"I can't answer that," said Tarrant, "Except to say that I have no reason to believe that we are being short-changed. But the casualties have been heavy. Three years ago most of their people were killed, including all of their leadership and everyone seconded to them. Giles has done an extraordinary job of rebuilding, but he's desperate for personnel. Now that you've come to his attention I'm afraid that he may be planning to try to recruit you."

"I don't think so," said Modesty. "So far he's done nothing but express a mild interest in my family. He seems to think that my parents might have been related to a Romanian gypsy tribe."

"Romania?" said Tarrant. "That's interesting."

"What do you know that we don't?" asked Willie.

Tarrant considered for a moment, then said "I have to ask you not to discuss this with Giles, if you talk with him again."

"Discuss what?" asked Modesty.

"This conversation, and what I'm about to tell you."

"All right," said Modesty. Willie nodded his agreement.

"Three years ago we missed the early warning signs that led to tragedy, because we assumed that their organisation was being run competently. Afterwards we learned that they were hidebound, endlessly bogged down in tradition and precedent. Corruption was rife, and Giles' predecessor was a disaster, a man with a knack for doing exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time."

"So when Giles took over you decided to keep a closer eye on things," said Modesty.

"Exactly."

"You're bugging them," said Willie.

"Monitoring their communications," said Tarrant. "As are the Americans, and probably at least another dozen governments."

"Do you think Giles doesn't know?" asked Modesty. "If he's in contact with you I'd imagine he at least suspects that you're watching him."

"That's more or less what he was asking, in fact," said Tarrant. "He wanted to check that you aren't one of my agents. Since you say you met twice I can only assume that someone may have suggested that your second encounter was less than accidental."

Willie grinned and said "I wonder what gave him that idea?"

Modesty smiled for a moment, then said "Would I be right if I guessed that you're learning a lot less than you'd like?"

Tarrant nodded reluctantly and said "There have been problems. Their security is excellent."

"And you'd really love to have someone on the inside to make up for it," said Willie.

"Yes, but... No. Definitely not. I don't want either of you to have anything to do with them."

"Sir Gerald," said Modesty, "we don't work for you, and I'm reasonably sure that we're both old enough to make our own decisions. Now hypothetically, if we did get a little closer to Giles what would you want to know...?"

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

Related Events  
_By Marcus L. Rowland_  
VI

Modesty looked around a small square near Bath cathedral, checked the address Giles had given her again, and eventually walked towards an age-darkened eighteenth-century building sandwiched between a pub and a souvenir shop. She spotted the name "Giles" hand-labelled on one of the bell pushes and rang it.

After thirty seconds or so it was opened by Dawn, who stood back to let her in and said "Hi! He's upstairs in the dining room. Tea, coffee, or something stronger?"

"Coffee please."

She turned to the stairs and shouted "Coffee!", then in a more normal tone said "it's this way if you'd like to follow me."

"This is a lovely house," said Modesty, looking around the hall. It smelled of polish and beeswax, and the stairs were uncarpeted wood, worn glass-smooth by countless feet, and looked as old as the house. A stained-glass window on the first landing bathed the stairs in reds, blues, and greens.

"It's pretty neat," said Dawn, leading them upstairs. "A few years older than the USA. It was split into apartments after the first world war, but Giles is restoring it. It's bigger than it looks from the front, bits of it are behind the pub."

Modesty wondered at that, judging by the size of the hall she guessed it must have eight or ten bedrooms. It seemed a lot for a bachelor.

The dining room was oak-panelled with a table big enough to seat sixteen. One end of the table held a couple of dozen books bound in crumbling leather, two laptop computers, two phones and a clutter of coffee mugs, the other was clear apart from a large-scale map of Bucharest and the surrounding area under a clear plastic overlay, with crystal paper-weights holding down the corners. Giles was peering at the map when they came in, marking something with a red wax crayon. Looking over the map, Modesty could see several red crosses.

"Miss Blaise," said Giles, "delighted to see you again. I'm sorry that you've had to come all the way from London, but I need to stay where I can be reached. Things seem to have gone badly wrong in Bucharest."

"Things?" asked Modesty.

"Killings," said Giles. "Each of the crosses is an attack."

"Six of them?" asked Modesty.

"Ten," said Giles, "some of them are multiple murders."

"What the hell is going on?" asked Modesty.

"How much did Tarrant tell you?"

Modesty didn't pretend to be surprised by the question. After all, she'd called him only two days after he'd contacted Tarrant. "Not very much, really. He told me that you run an organisation that specialises in unusual counter-terrorist operations, psychological profiling, that sort of thing." It was more or less true, just incomplete. He'd as good as admitted that Giles really was involved in some sort of psychic defence organization, though he hadn't said so outright. He wanted her to form her own opinions, and compare notes when she returned to London. "He said you handle the impossible cases, the ones that never come to trial."

"And that's all?" asked Giles, polishing his glasses.

"I could tell he was keeping something back. He tried to warn me to have nothing to do with you, and that really isn't a good way to stop me from doing something. So I thought I'd come and see for myself."

Giles seemed to think for a second, then said "Tarrant was right. The prudent thing to do would be to go back to London and forget you ever met me."

"Not without the facts," said Modesty.

"The facts," said Giles. "Hmmm... Very well then..." He put his glasses back on and said "When we had lunch I started to tell you a story."

Modesty searched her memory, and said "About the gypsies cursing a vampire?"

"That's the one," said Giles. "I was curious as to whether you'd take me seriously. With your background I thought that you might know about the supernatural. Since that wasn't the case, I didn't pursue the matter."

"And I suppose you're going to tell me it's a true story," said Modesty. "A vampire."

"Vampires are real," said a quiet voice behind her. She looked round to see a short blonde woman carrying a tray with a coffee pot, cups, and cream. "We're just trying to figure out which one it is that's killing those people."

"Miss Blaise," said Giles, "I'd like to introduce you to Buffy Summers."

"Not quite what you were expecting?" asked Buffy, putting the tray on a clear part of the table.

"I hadn't actually got round to that part of the story yet," said Giles.

"Okay," said Buffy. "You want to give her the long boring version, or d'you want me to lay the Cliff's Notes on her?"

"The truth would be nice," said Modesty.

"The truth," said Giles. "Right. If you'd like to follow me, it's probably best if I show you."

Modesty and Buffy followed him back downstairs, and down again to a basement room, an office lit by bright fluorescents. A bored-looking but attractive blonde in a pink suit was typing something into a computer.

"Can you spare a moment?" asked Giles.

"Sure boss," said the typist.

"Harmony is a... I suppose I'd best describe her as a defector from a hostile organization. She's given us some very valuable information on their activities, and agreed to submit to some restraints on her activities. In return we're protecting her from her former employers and... well, from us. Miss Blaise, do you have a mirror on you?"

"I think so." Modesty looked in her handbag and pulled out a compact.

"If you'd like to use the mirror to observe Harmony," said Giles, "I think that'll give you all the proof you need."

Modesty opened the compact and looked at the reflected desk. And suddenly her world changed forever. She could see the desk itself, and the computer, but there was no sign of Harmony, no matter how she twisted the mirror.

"Could be an optical illusion," said Buffy, picking up a stapler, "or something like a hologram. Just to show that it isn't... catch!" she lobbed the stapler towards Harmony, fairly hard. Harmony caught it then angrily said "That chipped my nail!" Her face abruptly shifted to an angular heavy-browed mask, with yellow eyes and protruding fangs.

"Sorry," Buffy said insincerely. "But I was gonna ask you to vamp out anyway, I wanted to show her how it works." Harmony growled for a second, then her face morphed back to its human form.

"I think that's everything we need," said Giles.

"Great. Now can I get back to the damn report?"

"Of course. Thank you." He turned back to Modesty. "If you'd like to come back upstairs, I have a feeling that you might like a drink."

"I think you might be right," said Modesty.

oOoOoOo

The Territorial Army barracks near Regent's Park in London rarely gets much publicity. Most people who drive past don't notice it, those who do generally assume that the troops using it are just another group of amateur soldiers. Most people aren't aware that it's one of the headquarters of a unit once known as the 20th Middlesex (Artists') Rifle Volunteer Corps, whose members included Noel Coward, Holman Hunt, and Wilfred Owen. Today it's better known as the 21st Special Air Service Regiment.

At about the same time that Modesty arrived in Bath, a truck with Royal Marine markings stopped outside the barracks, watched by two armed guards, and dropped off a tall blond Marine sergeant in an impeccably pressed uniform. The driver saluted and drove off, and the sergeant pulled out a wad of papers, showed a pass to one of the guards, and entered the barracks.

"Can I help you, Sergeant?" asked the pretty Military Police corporal managing the reception desk. Since she wasn't wearing her cap she didn't salute him.

"Sergeant Willis," said Willie, effortlessly hiding his Cockney accent and covering it with a slight hint of Welsh. "I'm here for the Joint Services Chemical Waste Management Conference."

"Right... just a sec." She leafed through some papers on a clipboard, ticked off the name he'd given, and gave him a red and yellow striped visitor's badge, pointed to one of the corridors leading off from the lobby, and said "Along there to the end then right and up the stairs, you want room 107 on the first floor."

"107, first floor."

"Better hurry, they're starting at eleven."

"Thanks, corporal." He gave her a smile and turned towards the corridor, hoping that he wouldn't run into anyone who knew him. It was a couple of years since he'd last had anything to do with the SAS, and then it had been the Regular Army unit at Hereford. But there were always a few Regulars attached to Territorial units, it wasn't impossible that one of them would be in the barracks. He hoped that his close-cropped hair and the wax he'd injected into the skin of his nose to change its shape would be enough of a disguise. As an added precaution he'd arrived at the last minute, to ensure that he wouldn't have to wait around too publicly. He quickly found the room, showed his badge to a private outside the door, and went in.

There were eighteen other men and three women in the room, sitting on uncomfortable-looking folding seats with fold-down writing trays, arranged to face a table with two seats and a laptop computer. Behind it a screen showed a PowerPoint slide reading "Managing Military Waste." Everyone in the room was a uniformed corporal or sergeant. There were no officers and, Willie was pleased to see, nobody he knew, and nobody in Marine uniform. Tarrant had promised him as much, but there was always a chance that things could have gone wrong. There was one vacant seat, with a clipboard and a sealed envelope labelled "Confidential: Management of Military Waste" leaning against the back rest. Willie took it and moved the pad to the arm rest.

"Any idea what this is about, sarge?" asked the Corporal sitting next to him. His badge identified him as Corporal Briggs, Household Cavalry. Probably in one of their tank units.

"Not the foggiest," said Willie, glancing at his watch. There were a couple of minutes to go. "It says waste management, but I'm damned if I know what that has to do with me. The Captain wasn't very forthcoming."

"Mine neither."

"What line are you in?"

"EOD," said Briggs, the acronym for bomb disposal. "And you?"

"Diver," said Willie. It was a useful cover that played to his strengths; Marine divers were expected to be good with knives, explosives, and communications equipment, so his expertise wasn't likely to arouse any comments.

"Sod all to do with..." The Corporal stopped and snapped to his feet as a Captain and a Major came into the lecture room. Like the others, Willie stood at attention.

"As you were," said the Major. Everyone settled back into their seats. "Shut the door please." Someone outside closed it, and he continued, "I'm Major Blake, and as you may have gathered, this is not a seminar on waste management. Before I go on, I must warn you that this meeting is classified Top Secret Valkyrie Five. All of you will be given Top Secret Valkyrie Five clearance for the duration of the meeting. You will not discuss anything said here with anyone who does not have Top Secret Valkyrie Five clearance. That includes your commanding officers and other members of your regiments, your mother, your girlfriend, the barmaid at the pub down the road, or anyone present at this meeting who is not granted such clearance on a permanent basis. And if anyone here is planning to write his memoirs, this will not be a part of them. If you'll open your envelopes you'll find copies of the Official Secrets Act. All of you must sign and return the forms now, before we carry on. You will not take notes during the briefing."

Like the others, Willie signed the form in triplicate and handed it to the Captain, who put them into a leather document wallet and took them out, locking the door behind him.

"Now," said Major Blake, "At the end of this briefing you'll be invited to take temporary secondment to a civilian organisation, where you will be assessed and given some special training. Those of you who qualify will be invited to take a longer period of secondment, probably one or two years. I need to emphasise from the outset that this can be considered a hazardous posting, and that you are at liberty to refuse it. If you do you will lose Top Secret Valkyrie Five clearance, and you will be asked to forget everything that you will be told today. Any questions before we begin?"

One of the Sergeants at the back of the room stood and said "Will secondment affect our seniority, Sir?"

"No," said Blake. "Your time on secondment will be considered to be time on active service."

"Thank you, sir."

"Anyone else?" There was no reply. "Good." He moved to the laptop, pushed in a USB memory stick, and loaded a file called "Valkyrie5". The screen showed the first slide of a new presentation, reading "The Watcher's Council." He looked at his audience and said "I'm here to talk to you about an organisation called the Watcher's Council. It's British-based, international in scope and primarily civilian, but occasionally needs paramilitary assistance. In the past it employed a small operations unit which was essentially a mercenary force, composed mostly of ex-SAS troops. This wasn't an ideal arrangement; there was insufficient oversight of their operations, and at least one instance of a unit going out of control. Unfortunately they chose to do this in Los Angeles, with fully automatic weapons, and made the additional mistake of getting caught. Currently the survivors are serving twenty years to life in various Federal penitentiaries." There was a ripple of uneasy laughter.

"About three years later hostile forces launched a series of attacks on the Watcher's Council, with very high casualties. Some of you may remember the destruction of their London offices at the end of 2002, with nearly thirty killed, which was blamed on Al-Qaeda. Many more were lost in attacks on their offices and personnel around the world. Fortunately some of the Council's more effective field operatives survived, and are currently working to rebuild the organisation. As an interim measure members of an American covert operations unit known as the Initiative supplied military assistance, but this occasionally led to problems with command and control, and left the Initiative over-extended. Two years ago the Americans asked the Watcher's Council to make alternative arrangements. Since then the government has loaned the Council troops and equipment as needed."

"Several of the troops currently assigned to the Council will be completing their secondment over the next few weeks, and will mostly be returning to normal duties. As a result we're supplying replacements. At the request of the Council we're also expanding the unit slightly, mostly by adding more specialists omitted from the original table of organization."

"I'll start by going over the Council's role and structure. I'm fairly sure that all of you will have questions, I'll take them at the end." He pressed a key, and a bullet point appeared on the slide, reading "Monitoring and countering supernatural threats to the human race."

"Bloody hell," muttered Willie. He'd expected psychic phenomena. From the murmur that filled the room he wasn't the only one surprised.

_TBC_

**Author's Note:** All of the information about The Artists Rifles is entirely true and can be confirmed in Wikipedia - while I was researching it I was reminded that this organisation is also important in The Atrocity Archives by Charles Stross, a book I thoroughly recommend.

Thanks to Mike Cule and several Livejournal readers for comments and suggestions on this chapter.

Finally, another reminder of the Livejournal sdaleconspiracy community, for discussion of conspiracy theories related to the mysterious destruction of the city of Sunnydale in 2003.


	7. Chapter 7

Related Events  
_By Marcus L. Rowland_  
VII

"Willie ought to be here soon," said Modesty Blaise. "He said he'd walk back from the barracks and shake off anyone who followed him."

"I hope that he'll forgive me for keeping him in the dark," said Sir Gerald Tarrant. "I hope you will, for that matter."

"Why did you think we'd..." There was a soft click from the hallway, and Modesty looked round towards the door as Willie walked in wearing his Marine uniform and said "Got any beer handy, Princess?"

"There are some bottles of Guinness in the kitchen cupboard," said Modesty, "and some lager in the fridge."

"Willie," said Tarrant, "I'm sorry that..."

"Let me get a drink first," said Willie, "Then I can tell you what a conniving old bastard you are without wearing my voice out."

"Were you followed?" asked Modesty.

"I don't think so," said Willie, "but I think someone's watching this block. There's a mini-bus in the car park, sounds like the one you said picked Giles up, with a couple of girls in it. Looks like they're watching the penthouse lift."

"Did they see you?"

"Don't think so," said Willie, coming back with his Guinness, "but if what they told me was true it..." He suddenly stopped talking, looking startled.

"What?" asked Modesty.

"That's odd," said Willie, "I was going to say something and it was like my voice stopped working. Anyway, according to the briefing..." He stopped again, and said "Bloody hell."

"I take it you now have Top Secret Valkyrie Five clearance," said Tarrant. "It is a little startling the first time that happens."

"What happens?" asked Modesty.

"'You will not discuss anything said here with anyone who does not have Top Secret Valkyrie Five clearance,'" quoted Tarrant. "That isn't an instruction, it's a statement of fact. But all members of the Watcher's Council, and anyone they brief, automatically count as cleared. You can talk to her."

"How the hell does that work?" asked Willie, then realization dawned. "Bloody hell, it's magic, isn't it?"

"Exactly," said Tarrant. "It's at its strongest in the first few days after you sign, even after that you'll need a damned good reason to talk about it."

"Which is why you didn't warn us," realised Willie.

"You really couldn't talk?" asked Modesty. Willie nodded as he drank. "That must be awkward if you run into a vampire and you're with people who don't know."

"That's one of several contingencies the spell covers," said Tarrant. "If it's a real emergency it cuts out."

"Okay," said Willie. "So... they briefed us for about two hours, told us about vampires and demons and vampire slayers. If it hadn't been for the magic thing I'd still be half-convinced they were joking. How about you, Princess?"

"Giles explained the broad outline of their work," said Modesty, "and showed me a vampire to convince me he wasn't insane."

"A vampire?" said Willie. "Where the hell did they dig that one up?"

"She's their typist."

"Miss Kendall?" asked Tarrant.

"You've met her?" asked Modesty.

"I know of her," said Tarrant. "They have her fitted with a tracking device, we supplied the equipment."

oOoOoOo

"Most vampires and many other types of demons are little more than murderous animals," Giles had said earlier that day, "with near-perfect camouflage, stronger and faster than any normal human. There have been a few exceptions..."

"Harmony?" asked Modesty. Dawn giggled.

"To an extent," said Giles. "Killing people is always somewhat problematic, even for vampires. The authorities tend to notice. Some, like Harmony, find it more convenient to drink animal blood and avoid attention. But if it wasn't for that, and for the fact that she has enemies who would destroy her if she left our protection, she'd be happily killing anyone who took her fancy."

"Back in Sunnydale she made her own little army of minions," said Buffy, "six or eight people she'd killed and turned into vampires. But the police in Sunnydale were actively covering up what was going on."

"I saw the conspiracy theory web site," said Modesty. "I'd love to hear some explanations."

"Later, perhaps," said Giles. "Now where was I? Oh yes... Another exception was the vampire originally responsible for destroying the Kalderash tribe. Angelus, or Angel as he later became known. In 1898 he and his lover Darla kidnapped and murdered a girl of the tribe. They responded by cursing him with a soul."

"With a soul?"

"Vampires are soulless," said Giles, "it's one of the reasons why they can kill and feel no remorse. We're aware of one exception, a vampire who was scientifically restrained from killing and gradually developed the vestiges of a conscience, but lacking such restraint they are implacable killers."

"Usually," added Buffy. "One of the reasons why we didn't kill Harmony is that she shows occasional signs of going the same way."

"So this Angelus got a soul. Did he stop killing people?" asked Modesty. She tried not to let her skepticism show. She could think of a dozen killers she'd known, most of them without any vestige of conscience. She had no reason to think that any of them didn't have a soul.

"Eventually," said Giles, "though it may have taken some time for a conscience to develop again. We don't have all the details. We do know that by the time of the Boxer Rebellion he was refusing to kill."

"What about the rest of the tribe then?"

"Darla," said Buffy. "She led some other vampires on a rampage against the tribe. We don't know how many they killed, but between that and the Nazis a generation or two later they were pretty much wiped out."

"Except for Jenny Calender and a few of her close relatives," said Giles. "In 1997 Angel moved to Sunnydale, and they sent her to keep an eye on him, to be ready to warn them if the spell was ever broken."

"Spell?" asked Modesty. "Are you saying that magic is real?"

"Certainly," said Giles. "I'm afraid that we don't have anyone here today who can give you a convincing demonstration without hours of messy ritual, but it's as real as... well, this table." He rapped it with his knuckles.

"Why are you surprised?" asked Dawn. "They just showed you a vampire!"

"Oh, I believe you," said Modesty, "I'm just not sure how to react to it. Are we talking something like voodoo here, or more like Harry Potter?"

"Both," said Giles, "and every other type of magic you can imagine. There are elaborate rituals that require exotic ingredients or human sacrifices, and curses and spells that can be cast with a wand or a word. Given your previous experience I'm surprised you've never run into it before."

"Sorry to disappoint you. Now tell me how Angelus lost his soul."

"Where the hell did that come from?" asked Buffy.

"Isn't it obvious?" asked Modesty. "Angel moves to Sunnydale, Jenny follows, and a year or so later she's dead. Somehow he lost his soul and killed her."

"The details really don't matter," said Giles. "It's all in the past now, and Angel is dead. But yes, he lost his soul, killed Jenny and several others. Buffy eventually killed him, and that ended that rampage."

"When you say 'killed him,'" said Modesty, "does that mean he stayed dead, or do vampires come back, like the Dracula films?"

"Not usually," said Dawn, "but yeah, Angel showed up again. Something pulled him back and gave him his soul again."

"Do you think he's responsible for the deaths in Bucharest?"

"We believe he was killed again in 2004," said Giles. "Both Angel and Darla have returned from apparent death at least once so it isn't impossible, but we have a better suspect." He handed Modesty a folder labelled 'Drusilla'.

oOoOoOo

"A psychic psychotic vampire?" said Willy. "Not just an ordinary one?"

"That's right," said Modesty.

"Bloody hell."

"And Giles thinks that she's finishing the work begun by her... um... parents?" said Tarrant.

"That's right," said Modesty.

"But why now?" asked Willie. "It's an 'ell of a coincidence."

"It probably isn't a coincidence," said Modesty. "Giles has had people looking for survivors of the Kalderash tribe for several weeks. He thinks that this Drusilla somehow learned about it. The first victims were researchers his organization hired, the last one was Giles' representative in Bucharest."

"And now Giles thinks she's on your trail," Willie said flatly.

"How did you work that one out?" asked Tarrant.

"The girls in the van downstairs. They wouldn't be there for the fun of it."

"You're right, of course," said Modesty. "Giles had to give his man some information, and he was tortured before he was killed. He didn't have my name, but he knew that Giles had found someone in London. For someone like Drusilla that might be enough."

"How long do we have?" asked Tarrant.

"Probably a day or two," said Modesty. "The last killing was two nights ago. Giles doesn't think she'll risk travelling by air, there's too much that can go wrong, and she can't stand daylight, so if she set off last night..."

"If she's travelling in a packing case or something she could be in London tomorrow night," said Willie, consulting a mental timetable. "Train from Bucharest to Budapest, Budapest to Vienna, Vienna to Paris, Paris to London through the Channel Tunnel. Or stow away on a truck, do the whole trip in three or four days, through the tunnel or on a ferry. Add another day or two if she's travelling as a passenger, she'd have to break the trip a couple of times and hole up somewhere until the following evening."

"What are you planning to do about it?" asked Tarrant.

"First, we get you out of here," said Modesty. "Once we've done that, Willie and I can start getting ready for visitors..."

_TBC_

**Author's Note:** Apologies for the long delay on this - I've been busy with other things. Check out my web site for my new RPG supplement _Elvis: The Legendary Tours_ and an all-new game, _The Original Flatland Role Playing Game_, published in aid of charity. I'm continuing to work on new RPG projects, so don't expect any of my stories to be updated quickly.

Finally, another reminder of the Livejournal sdaleconspiracy community, for discussion of conspiracy theories related to the mysterious destruction of the city of Sunnydale in 2003.


	8. Chapter 8

Many apologies for the very long delay (nearly three years) on this - for some reason I was completely blocked on it. I think I know where it's going now, and hope that you'll feel it's been worth the wait. Warning - Character Death.

**Related Events**  
_By Marcus L. Rowland_  
VIII

In the pub next to Giles' house in Bath, Harmony sipped a piña colada and scratched absent-mindedly at the skin under the oversized watch that continually transmitted her location to the Council's computers. She knew better than to try to remove it, or drink human blood while wearing it; the complex spells in the band would incinerate her in seconds. She took a look at her nails, and for the third time that evening said "I'm still not sure the pink glitter nail polish really goes with this dress."

Dawn stifled a yawn then said, "I think I'd better call it a night, it's nearly eleven," and finished her glass of white wine.

"I'll stay on for a while," said Harmony, "then go on to one of the clubs. Maybe I'll get lucky."

"Suit yourself. Just don't get too bitey if you do. G'night." Dawn picked up her bag and tucked her coat under her arm, and went out. Harmony waited a few minutes, to be sure that Dawn wasn't coming back, then got her own coat and left, walking into the maze of narrow streets east of the Cathedral. As she walked she felt her cell phone vibrate, and ducked into a quiet cobbled alley to answer.

"Yeah, of course it's me... I met her today... Blaise, Modesty Blaise... B L A I S E... Park Lane in London, Giles said it's a penthouse, can't be that many addresses to check... You know I can't risk... no, definitely not. Talk to you when I can." She pressed the disconnect button and turned to leave.

She realised that she wasn't alone as a stake was thrust into her heart. Dust, a mobile phone and a bulky watch fell onto the cobbles.

* * * * *

"I'm sorry to bother you this early," Giles said the following morning.

"I was up anyway," said Modesty, showing him into her living room. "Would you like to join me for breakfast?"

"That's very kind of you, but I've already eaten. I've been up most of the night, and have to be in Whitehall in an hour or so. But please go ahead, if you don't mind me talking to you while you eat."

Modesty led him through to the kitchen, where a filter machine was making a pot of coffee, and poured two cups. "You probably need this more than I do."

"I won't disagree." He added some cream, drank a little, then said, "there's been a development. Drusilla may already be in the country."

"What sort of development?"

"Harmony vanished last night. We found our tracking device in the street a few blocks from my house, she couldn't have removed it without serious magical help, but there's no evidence of that. Judging by the dust we found with it, she was staked. She and Drusilla were rivals, it's just possible that Drusilla decided to settle an old score."

"Are there any other possibilities? Didn't you say she was some sort of defector?"

"Yes, her... um... former employers might have caught up with her, but she really wasn't that important. If they wanted revenge I'm sure that they would have gone for something much more protracted. If they wanted her back they would have had the magic to remove the tracker."

"What about your side? She was a vampire, perhaps one of your slayers killed her."

"I've checked, of course. There were only two slayers in Bath last night, and both were busy elsewhere at the time she vanished."

"What about Buffy?"

"She's been in London since yesterday evening."

"Organising the girls in the car park?"

"You spotted them?"

"A friend noticed them, and I guessed who they were."

"I hope that you don't object?"

"Not at all. But I'm making my own arrangements, so hopefully they won't be needed."

"Might I ask..?"

"I'm a reasonably good shot with a bow, and by this evening I'll have some incendiary ammunition for my pistol."

"Your pistol?"

"I have a firearms license, and a permit to carry it."

"Tarrant, of course. Which reminds me, I need to get on, he's my first appointment."

"Of course."

She saw Giles out, and wondered what he wasn't telling her.

_**To Be Continued**_

Not sure how soon I'll post the next part - I know where this is going, but it may take me a while to get there.


End file.
